It's Not 18 Days to Go

At the end of my last post, I said we had 18 days to go. 

I now realize...that's not going to be the case.  We have many, many more days to go.  On Thursday night, we slept in our apartment for the first time in two weeks when Mr. Squire got back from a five-day trip to Denver and I got back from a five-day trip to Richmond.  Neither of us got a lot of sleep because we kept feeling things crawling over us.  Every fifteen minutes, between midnight and 2am, Mr. Squire turned on the light and checked the corners of the bed -- to find at least one or two bugsies crawling toward us.  He killed 18 bugs that night.  We barely got any sleep.

18 bugs after the first treatment means that the number of original bugs was probably well into the several hundreds.  That's going to take more than a little time to cure. We're not going to be able to unpack on August 30 as I had planned.  This very well may take another 2 months--or more.  For those of you keeping track, that means we may not be out of this mess before Junior's due date--and that's if she waits that long to come.  

I really don't know what to do.  I have a trial that begins in exactly three weeks.  I have a child who is due to come in fewer than eleven weeks.  I have an apartment in the sense of four walls.  And  admittedly, I have a bunch of stuff in it.  But I can't access it, there are no shelves, the closets are empty, the couch is overturned, everything is in bags and bins, and ... I have a pit in my stomach just thinking about our future.  People keep telling me there will be an end.  Of course I know that must be true.  But it doesn't feel real to me right now.  The end feels so far away.  It feels so unachievable.  It feels incredibly out of reach.

It's not a guarantee that we won't be able to resolve this before Junior comes.  Lord, please please please make this go away in time for us to be able to create an actual home.  But it's also not a guarantee that we WILL be able to resolve this before she comes.  And my 4.5-month maternity leave looks more and more bleak.  Thankfully, we do have options. I think the first option is just to live with my in-laws for a while.  But... honestly, it had not been my hope or desire to live with anyone except for my husband and child--much less in someone else's house--during the already stressful experience of having my first child.  I know I sound like a brat for complaining, when I have a place to go and a loving family to help us out.  So I'll stop there.

My eye has been twitching for several weeks now, and I know it's because I'm really, really stressed. I had the worst week of work maybe in my entire career this last week.  Every week, I think the next week will be better -- and then it isn't.  It just brings more problems of a different variety.  And people keep reminding me that my feeling stressed isn't good for Junior.

I'm not sure what to do about that.  I mean -- is it really realistic to expect me to just ... be unaffected by all of this, so that my unborn child can be healthy?  If someone can please teach me how to compartmentalize like that, I'd really like to learn.  That would be a life skill that could help me in many ways.  I just don't think it's that easy. 

At the same time... I get it.  Life happens.  Crap happens.  Over the last few weeks, boy have I seen -- over and over -- that crap happens.  And I just need to find a way to deal with it.  Just wish I knew how.

In Case You Were Wondering...

What it's like to have bedbugs, this is the post for you.  Here's a photo of what our apartment looked like the day that we *finally* unpacked after our long and stressful move.  This is what we call the "BEFORE" picture.

Just two days later, we found out that our place has been infested with bedbugs for 3-6 months.  I made the discovery upon finding a row of five bites on my back.  As the days went on, I found more and more bites (the bites have latent effect and can reveal themselves up to ten days after the bite).  By the time we found out about the bedbugs, we had already slept in our new place for five days.  That was enough time for me to accumulate upwards of 50 bites, and for Mr. Squire to accumulate more than 100 bites.  His were worse--his turned into welts, and he had more than 50 bites from his left shoulder to his left hand alone.  These pictures don't nearly do justice to the angry red welts he had all over his body:

He woke up one morning with his entire body on fire because he's very allergic to the bites.  :(  His bites make me so sad.  We spent the next few days mastering the ice pack and spending lots of time running a very hot/very cold cycle of water against his bites:

That's just the effect on our bodies.  

As far as our home went, everything we had just unpacked and all of our newly built furniture was potentially infested--so we had to undo all of our progress, borrow a couple of bedbug baking bags from friends (by God's mercy, we were able to borrow these on short notice rather than purchasing them), sterilize everything by putting through the dryer for 45-60 minutes or baking at 120 degrees for at least one hour--one bag at a time, then packing everything.

This was a three-day process of dawn-to-midnight baking and packing... here's the beginning:

Gives new meaning to "cooking the books":

Endless baking and packing until all the closets were bare...

And all of our possessions were stacked in garbage bags in the bathroom (top of the mountain reserved for the stuffies!)

All furniture deconstructed...

In the process, we became so paranoid about infecting stuff that we started to keep important documents in the freezer and our clean garbage bags and paper towels in the fridge.

And between preparing for a trial, dealing with a bad-move-turned-bedbug-disaster, AND being 6.5 months pregnant... well, I finished a lot of ice cream and cookies (Levain cookies courtesy of TV).  

And that's where things stand today... our exterminator made his first of three visits yesterday.  We've been staying at Big Brother Squire's place for the week while he and his family are on vacation (we know that it is totally God's providence and timing that they were on vacation this week), then Mr. Squire and I are both traveling on business (he to Denver, me to Richmond) for a few days... and then we will have to find another place to go until August 30.  

That's right--we vacated our Brooklyn apartment on July 28, didn't get to even sleep in our new apartment until July 31, didn't get 95% unpacked until August 3 (this is after we canceled our vacation due to the move snafu), and found out about the bedbugs on August 5.  From August 6-10, we frantically created a plan, baked and bagged all of our stuff, and deconstructed our apartment.  And we don't get to move back in until at LEAST August 30.  Worst move ever?  Maybe not -- but it's got to be up there.  (Especially with the trial and pregnancy on top of it.)

The good thing is... I'm finally--FINALLY--at a point when the heavy lifting is over and I can mentally and spiritually and emotionally rest a bit more.  I'm resigned to everything that has happened, and I am beginning to see God again.  It's still really hard, but I can finally acknowledge and thank God for His mercies along the way, like:

• Big Brother Squire and his family being away, enabling us to stay at his apartment (which is on the third floor) while we were baking and bagging--which was a lot more convenient than staying anywhere else;

• Little Brother Squire and his wife coming to help Mr. Squire move our furniture (at 6.5 months pregnant, I can't lift anything heavy anymore), and our friends Harvey and Stephen being willing to come in from the City and put themselves at risk of bedbugs to help us out (they didn't have to come, but their willingness was very touching);

• Our business trips, which will take us out for a few more days;

• AMAZING weather -- which kept our spirits high and made things a lot easier while we were baking (i.e. it helped that on top of paying exorbitant energy bills for running the dryer and the baking units 24/7, we didn't have to pay for AC on top of that to bring the temperature back down -- plus, I hate humidity and heat, so I was in a much better mood with the incredible, unseasonably cool weather); 

• The prayers of many -- especially my women's group and closest sisters at church... I held off for a long time on asking for their prayers, but when I finally broke down in desperation, I felt the prayers of many upholding us;

• Functioning internet at home, which allowed me to work from home over the weekend while helping with the baking and bagging... otherwise, I would have had to leave Mr. Squire to continue to do everything on his own, and that would have broken my heart even more; and last but most importantly:

• My unbelievably strong and persevering and steel-minded hobey.  Even though he is completely spotted with over 100 fiery spots (I call him my dalmation), he just set his mind to conquering this trial and worked tirelessly and uncomplainingly to get everything done.  He never complained, he never whined (much unlike his wife).  He just put his mind to the task, steeled himself, and kept putting one foot in front of the other.  People often think I'm the strong-willed one, but I am convinced more than ever after seeing Mr. Squire at work over the last several weeks through the very difficult move and especially through the first big hurdle of this bedbug thing that he is really the strong one.  Incredible spiritual, emotional, and mental strength.  I couldn't have made it through without him and his strength that at many times had to be ample enough for both of us.  

18 days to go.  We're going to be okay.  I'm just starting to feel that that is true.

Whiplash

Well...we live in New Jersey now.  And that's just about all I can say about that.

The move was an arduous, trying process.  We found out the night before our move (at 10:20 PM) that the apartment was not ready, so our stuff could move in, but we could not.  We spent the next four days in a hotel.  After working a long day at work, I shuttled to the apartment to unpack pieces of the apartment and construct whatever furniture we could as paint was drying and the electrical outlets were being changed in and out until midnight, then returned to the hotel to do the same thing over again.  Four days in a row.

On the fifth day, we finally parked ourselves in our new bedroom.  The outside was a mess, but the bedroom actually looked like something livable, and that was very nice.  Days six, seven, and eight were spent unpacking, cleaning, and organizing.  I got food poisoning on Day 9.  But that day, we finally finished (well, mostly -- turns out we couldn't put curtains up because of the metal behind the wall -- not sure what to do about that) and had our first overnight guest over.  And all was well.

Day 10 was good.  On Day 11, though, I found a row of bites on my shoulder -- five in a row.  And another five bites on my neck.  We investigated, we found very quickly:  bed bugs.  Apparently the place has been infested for 3-6 months.  We had no idea...until we finished going through the entire process of unpacking.  And spreading our stuff around in the process, picking up who-knows-what.  

Days 12 and 13 have been up and down as we've explored options for treatment.  Yesterday was up, as we thought we had found a solution that would be relatively quick (i.e. over in ten days) and would not require sterilizing and packing and unpacking everything because heat treatment would solve everything.   Today is way down.  That other solution isn't going to work.  Everything that I wanted to avoid, we have to do.  And it's going to be another 3.5-4 weeks before we have our home back -- and that's assuming all goes well.

We had to cancel our ONE vacation this year due to the moving snafu (there goes whatever "babymoon" we had planned).  We have canceled our baby shower due to the infestation trap and the havoc on our time, energy, and resources that it has drained.  I am frustrated from the bottom of my being to the top.

And people have been encouraging me to maintain perspective.  Honestly, I think I have perspective.  I just think I'm tired -- and I'm entitled to be tired.  Because we are not just talking about the last 13 days.  We are talking about the last seven months.  Because let's review the last seven months:   I've been preparing for a trial.  I've been pregnant.  With sciatica.  ANd I haven't had a vacation since December.  I just survived an awful move, and it turns out that we moved into a bug-filled trap that is going to cost thousands of dollars and many hours of heartache to fix--and that's if it works the first time around.  I'm sorry -- I'm just not in the mood to apologize for being a little angry and upset at the moment.

I had this talk with God a couple nights ago, and it looks like we're due for another talk again tonight.  I'm sure there is some reason for all of this, and one day maybe He'll let me in on the secret.  But can I say that this sucks?  Can I say that I feel like it's a bit much?  Can I say that I feel completely burned out?  Is that okay with you??  

Reflections on the Eve of Change in Plans #3

It was a long week.  Found myself still in the office past ten several times this week, working frantically to get things done before coming in again early the next morning.  Somehow, this happens every time church leadership retreat comes around:  I suddenly get extra-busy at work and I don't know until the last minute whether I can even go.  I wouldn't be surprised if there is some spiritual warfare aspect to that. 

 

But then God makes it happen somehow.  This year—the third year in a row in which this has happened—I had an inkling that He would come through, because He did so the past two years.  I guess that's how faith grows sometimes: we witness God in action, experience His faithfulness, and take a leap of faith the next time around.  I think that is a theme as of late.

 

I took my very last morning walk through Brooklyn Bridge Park yesterday morning.  Mr. Squire had gone to the Y to play with his boys one last time, so I was on my own at 7 in the morning – just me with the seagulls and various sets of duck families paddling through the river.  I purposely walked right along the water, studying the small ripples as they lapped against the pier.  Though I have moved lots of times in my life, I have always lived within walking distance of some body of water, and it helps me think. 

 

During my walk, I reflected upon and thanked God in particular for giving us this park to enjoy during our three years in Brooklyn.  It didn't yet exist when I first moved to Brooklyn in 2006, so I satisfied myself with the Promenade back then.  But the Promenade is nothing compared to the Park.  The Park opened in 2010, and really began to take off in 2011, right before we moved in.  And back then, there was only one entrance on the south side – just about 100 steps from the Squires' new residence. 

 

I have often thought that God gave us—and in particular me—the Park as a consolation for keeping us in New York City.  I'm not a fan of the City, and never really have been.  I'm here for work and really, I'm here because the Extended Squires are all based in New Jersey.  I am least happy when surrounded by tall buildings, trendy whatever, fancy restaurants that sell you $5 worth of food for $50, and lots and lots of people.  Ironic that I work in Times Square. 

 

I am at my happiest when I am strolling past flowers, tall trees, interesting plants, rivers, lakes, and oceans.  When I hear birds chirp amid the rustling of tree leaves brushing up against each other.  When I see lightning bugs light up at night.  I always urge them, "Do it again!"  Through the Park—and Brooklyn Heights itself—God has provided most of that to me on a daily basis.  And it has been so, so wonderful.  Mr. Squire and I have taken countless walks through the Park in the mornings, in the evenings after work (well…not these last few weeks…), and on weekends.  We've taken friends, we've taken family.  It's been, in a way, our pride and joy.

 

And now it is time to leave.

 

But first, I had to take my one last walk.  And as I made my way through the various thematic and ecological sections of the Park (the uplands, the granite terrace, the picnic piers, the glades, the dog runs, etc), I just felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude.  I felt lucky to be alive.  I don't often feel that way, but walking through the Park and reflecting on our past three years (combined with thankfulness that July has been incredibly mild so I could take walks outside in the morning) made me feel incredibly lucky to just be alive. 

 

Saying goodbye to the Park and to our home in Brooklyn Heights also made me think about what lies ahead.  I reflected on all the time I've spent in Brooklyn Heights over the years – first ten weeks in 2006, then summer of 2011 right before getting married until summer of 2014, right before Junior joins the family. 

 

A lot has happened in the last eight years.  The future looks uncertain, but I know God will come through.  I've seen him do so twice before, so I'm more comfortable this third time around. 

 

Change of Plans #1 began back in the flat flyover state that I still ultimately consider home.   I spent 22 years of my life there.  And during my junior year of college, all signs pointed toward making a life there—going to law school at the state college, joining a local prosecutor's office, and remaining there forever, I guess.  It made eminent sense, and would be affordable.  It would keep me near my family.  And while I have an adventurous streak (which has led me to snorkel in Alaska and hike steep mountains in China on a whim), I'm not very cosmopolitan.  A simple life satisfies me quite well, thankyouverymuch.  So the notion of leaving my flat flyover state didn't really appeal—or occur—to me. 

 

God evidently had other plans, though.  Three days before my LSAT (which of course I knew would be a breeze because my diagnostic score alone was more than enough to get me into the state law school), He changed everything.  There He was, placidly rolling the film in my flat flyover state for 21 years.  And then He panned the camera toward a totally different direction and said, "Do this instead."

 

That's how I ended up moving out East.  And here, I have remained for almost a decade now. 

 

Things worked out that first time around.  The adventuresome side of me accepted the change in plans.  I was only in my early 20s at the time, and the change actually made sense in light of the calling I had felt since age 9.  So I was okay with it, and went with it.

 

And God provided richly along the way.  In law school, He gave me real Christian community for the first time in my life.  Just this morning, when I woke up in my little convent room, I was lying there for a while with my stuffed hippo in my arms, reflecting on some of my friends from law school. 

 

I thought about Charles and Yoona, who live half a world away, yet send so much love through prayers and emails of encouragement and support. 

 

I thought about John and Grace, who continue to check in on me with deep concern about how I'm faring in family life, work life, and God life.

 

I thought about our oldest brother, Chris, whom God sends to me (or me to him) every time I have a big life change (starting first firm job, right before marriage, between clerkship and new firm job, right before Junior).  The most important thing that happens when Chris and I meet is that we pray, and he prophesies.  This only happens every couple years, so his words and prophecies stick with me for a long time, until the next installment.  Usually his prophecies relate to visions of what I will do.  But this last time, his prophecy was different.  The word from God that he received was a message that I need to know that I am deeply loved.  And there is nothing that I need to do to try to earn God's love – He already loves me as I am, and I should rest in that.   I shared that with the women I was praying with at retreat last night—because I think the message is for them as well.  As women, we work so hard in all areas of our lives.  Where men tend to find confidence and satisfaction just in who they are, I think women chronically struggle with feelings of inadequacy, which leads to endless (and exhausting) striving.  So that's been a good message to reflect on over the last several months since I last saw Chris.

 

There are others.  But these are the handful that I was reflecting on today.  They are people whom God used over the course of three years and beyond to shape my life and spiritual self.  They continue to shape me from faraway places—DC, Hong Kong, Beijing. 

 

Change of Plans #2 was more recent.  Around 2011, when I was due to start my clerkship, it seemed as if all signs were pointing toward a permanent life in Brooklyn.  It made sense, given my internship, clerkship history, and certain connections I had formed in the area.  It made even more sense, given Mr. Squire's teaching job at a charter school in Bed-Stuy.  Our future was set:  two public servants eking out a humble, but very satisfying, life together in Brooklyn's most beautiful neighborhood.  It was a thrilling prospect.

 

And then things fell apart and I suddenly found myself in the University of the Desert without a map, compass, or clue of why I was there, and how long it would take me to get out.  That last part scared me.  And all of it made me question so much of what I thought I knew about my relationship with God.   Had I really heard His voice before?  Was my calling real?  If so, what happened to it – had God changed it?  Was I just imagining things, like the clarity of God's will for me, all along?  These were devastating questions and worries that plagued my soul for a very. long. time.

 

For about eighteen months, my soul wandered about in a forlorn state, licking its wounds with a droopy head, despondent and confused and shriveled.  Sure, I had rays of hope and encouragement here and there, but I could no longer trust my spiritual ears or eyes.  I felt blind and deaf and really, really dumb.  I felt as if I had been following a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night for years—for decades—and all of a sudden the pillars disappeared one day and left me all alone.  Change of Plans #2 was nothing like Change of Plans #1.

 

We're between Change of Plans #2 and the next thing, whatever it may be.  It has taken a long time to emerge from the funk of Change of Plans #2, but I'm pretty sure I am out of the woods now.  Still kind of in the desert, but the desert now feels like home.  And I think that's actually what God wanted.

 

Looking back, Change of Plans #2 has been really good for the Squires.  Without going into detail here (though we can talk about it in person), the latest round of Change of Plans has been incredibly healing for both Mr. Squire and me.  Mr. Squire has been restored to his old self, and much of the damage I experienced through various work circumstances from a few years back has been repaired through my latest work circumstances.  In hindsight, Change of Plans #2 could aptly be called the Refurbishment Stage.  I'm pretty sure God used this period to mend our bruises and clean us up.  In other words, He used it to care for us and show us love.   

 

I'm at a point far enough in the distance now where I can actually see that.  And that's why I believe we are at the brink of yet another change.  Having experienced God's faithfulness the first two times around (though in drastically different ways), I am not approaching Change of Plans #3 with trepidation so much as quiet anticipation.   The road may be lined with incredible blessing (as in Round One), or it may sting and hurt like no other (as in Round Two).  But whichever form it takes, I believe, now more than ever, it will be orchestrated by God deep compassion, love, wisdom, and generosity.

 

 

Thoughts on the Mimosa Tree

I rounded the corner of Joralemon to Columbia Place late this evening, lost in thought (mostly about the super-bright bishop-crook street lamps they recently installed along Joralemon), when I suddenly became very distracted by my sniffer.

A sweet, clean, floral scent wafted past my nose -- subtle, but definitely present.  I sniffed and sniffed to my heart's content, breathing in the lovely smell and thinking of the lofty throng of funny-looking, delicate, pink and yellow pompons from which they emanate.  There's just one mimosa tree on our block, but when it is in bloom, you know it--even in the dead of night.  The scent gives it away and reminds you that it's there.

The thing that came immediately to mind in my sniffing frenzy was the verse in the Bible (II Corinthians 2:15) that says that we are called to be the fragrance of Christ, both among those who are saved and those who are perishing.  In other words (I think), we are to live our lives in a manner that unmistakably testifies to Christ, His love and beauty and heart for the world.  

In pondering this subject more deeply, I have just as couple observations and musings...

1.  You can't see a smell.  And you don't need to see, in order to smell.  If you can smell it, you know it's there.  I think God must have chosen to call us to be the "fragrance" of Christ rather than the "vision" or "picture" of Christ for this reason.  Whether you are living and walking in the light (and therefore able to see) or  perishing and walking in the darkness (and therefore not), you can smell the fragrance of Christ wherever it may be found.  That is how evident our testimony of Christ must be in our daily walk.

2.  My friend Jen and I were discussing Christianity over dinner tonight and commenting about how so much of our Christian life (and our Christian circles) is culturally Christian, rather than essentially Christian.  Where's the line between culture and essence -- what's real, and what's fluffy costuming so that we look the part? I found this dichotomy very challenging, and I want to give it more thought.  In reading John 6 this week, one verse keeps sticking out to me -- the part where the people ask what they must do to do what God requires, and Jesus responds that "The work of God is this, to believe in the one He has sent."  First and foremost is not to run soup kitchens, attend Bible study, host fellowship meetings, or even share the Gospel... the first and most important work of God is just to believe.  But how much of what we--forget about we--how much of what I do is just filler-fluffer costuming so that I can look the part, but avoid the heart of the matter, and that is sitting at Jesus's feet and believing in Him?

Bringing this thought back to the mimosa tree, I am reminded that the sweet fragrance I smelled today emanates from the essence of the fruit of the mimosa tree.  I could walk past a fake mimosa tree that looked every bit the part--but it would be of completely no interest to me, and indeed I would barely notice its presence, because nothing would draw me to it.  Same goes for a book about mimosa trees.  But when I walk down the street, and the fragrance completely envelops me?  That's captivating and compelling.

The stuff I do to talk about Jesus, or just try to be like a Jesus-y person, doing Jesus-y things that Jesus-y people do... a lot of that is window-dressing.  That's masquerading as a fake mimosa tree and bearing absolutely no fruit.  Or propping myself up as a book about mimosa trees.  But what about actually doing the work of God - and believing in Jesus...learning about Him...allowing Him to change me...and becoming more like Him.  I could see that leading to becoming the fragrance of Christ, both captivating and compelling.

Which will it be from this day forward?  

Two Weeks Out

Two weeks.  In just two weeks, we say goodbye to my beloved Brooklyn Heights and set out to stake out a new life for three in Jersey.  It kind of seems real, and it kind of doesn't.

My last day at the YMCA was yesterday.  Joining the Y was one of the very first things I did after moving here in June 2011.  I remember being almost gleeful about it; I was very proud of being a member of the Y because it is such a great community organization (and I kind of eschew the big gyms and always have).  Will--one of the front-desk guys--was the first person I met there, and over the last three years, I've said hello and goodbye to him countless times.  About a year ago, I finally got Hobey to sign up for the Y, too, and soon Will was saying hi to both of us.  Hobey would get up super-early to play basketball with a bunch of folks who grossly underestimated the lanky Asian kid and came to love having him on their respective teams. I would follow, then go find him, and we'd walk home from the gym together, saying goodbye to Will on the way out.  Now it's just goodbye.  That makes it seem real.

I've been on a fruit-buying binge for the last two months, consuming pounds of white nectarines, white peaches, yellow peaches, black plums, grapes, bing cherries, strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, pineapple, and watermelon every day.  The trusty Japanese/Korean produce stand on Atlantic has the very best produce around, and always at reasonable prices.  As excited I am about living across the street from an A&P Fresh in Jersey, I'm not ready to part with what is simply known as "the Japanese place" in our household.  That part isn't real yet.

And what of the friends we've made here?  Calvin, Lisette, Elijah, and Zuri - our fellow fifth-floor neighbors...  Wes and Diane, our fourth-floor friends who always have an interesting story to tell (and a fun magic trick to share)... Salah the friendly face who greets us at all times of day and night from Iris Cafe or Willowtown Store #7... Mohammed, the plucky Yemenite kid who works at the laundromat and wants to be an FBI agent... Kareem and Thuza, our cashier-friends at Key Food, whom we've seen grow and develop in pursuing careers in air-traffic control and accounting?  How do we say goodbye to them?  How can we just ... up and leave?  Not real yet.

At the same time, working my way up to our fifth-floor apartment is getting harder and harder to do.  I'm slower now, pokier, and I never know when I'm going to develop a random side cramp that makes me slow down to 90-year-old grandma pace.  Sleeping is now the most painful part of the day, because keeping blood flowing to Junior means NOT sleeping on my back, and sleeping on my side means serious hip pain. On both sides.  The stuffies are starting to ask me:  "Three more months, and then we probably won't be snuggling at night like this every day, huh?" and "When do we get to meet Junior?"  And of course, more and more people at work are figuring out that I'm actually only really getting fat in one area of my body (although, at six months, I'm surprised at how many people just haven't noticed yet--especially women!).  We're doing more and more research on strollers, cribs, diapering, swaddling, birthing, feeding, changing... we're praying, praying, praying, praying.  And the concept of Junior is becoming more real.  I see pregnant people everywhere now.  And I see little babies and think -- man, that's going to me in ... three months.  *gulp*  All that feels real.

So it's a mix.  It's an odd mix.  Because at the same time that all of that's going on, work is also busier than ever.  Not kidding. Thank goodness my appellate brief is done (yay for diligently putting aside three months' worth of Saturdays for justice!), or else I think I would explode.  Instead, I just race around the office day after day, putting out fires, chopping more wood, feeding more flames, cooking up meals, planting more trees... I'm taking my first deposition in a week. I'm defending a couple more in a month.  I'm doing my oral argument before the Second Circuit in a couple months, unless our adversary gives me a chance to postpone until after maternity leave.  LOTS going on.  Lots of new things. Exciting things. Non-Junior things.  

And it's like I lead a double life... expectant mom, ambitious associate.  Homebody who plays with her stuffies and is seriously going to grieve time away from her stuffed children, busybee out making dreams come true.  Diehard Brooklynite (of this part of Brooklyn, anyway), Jersey nester.  No wonder it all feels kinda real, kinda not.  Everything is a big paradox anyway.

And at bottom, I am grateful.  I feel very lucky at this point in my life right now.  As nuts as things seem at a granular level, I really am pretty happy with my life--most parts of it, anyway.  It feels like an adventure, and I don't know where it's going.  But for the most part, most of the time, I actually things it's going to turn out okay.  And for that, I am extremely grateful. 

Reason #38427934 Why My Hobey is the Best

Excerpt of our gchat conversation at 5:45 PM, a couple hours before we are due to be in Williamsburg for fellowship group tonight:

Me:  uhhhh... looks like... we might be filing our big motion tomorrow?  I think it will be impossible.  But if that is what they want to do, i will literally have to come back to work and work all night

Mr. Squire:  tonight?

Me:  my guess is that they will not choose to do that.  yes.

Mr. Squire:   :(

Me:  no idea yet

Mr. Squire:  if so, i can come back w/you and work from your office

* * *

I know it sounds too good to be true (i.e. like an empty offer), but it's actually not.  I don't often come into the office to work on weekends (instead, I just hole up at home and do work every Saturday), but when I do, Mr. Squire is invariably with me.  He camps out across from my desk, props up his feet, and either does work of his own or watches a movie.  And I get a lot more done and feel a lot better when he's there.  When Junior comes, those days will be a thing of the past.  But they'll always occupy a very special place in my heart.  My giving, sacrificial hobey.